


A Passing Whim

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy has always gotten dragged into whatever Octavia's current obsession is, but he finds out her art class comes with unexpected perks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Passing Whim

**Author's Note:**

> Awful wifi for the next few days. Sorry I'm not posting as much! Hope you enjoy :)

Bellamy doesn’t like to call his sister flighty, but she does have a habit of picking up hobbies, mastering them, and dropping them for something else.

Most of the time he thinks it’s endearing. He’s proud of her bravery to try new things, of her determination to improve when she’s not good at something right away. She’s curious and bright and enthusiastic. But he’s also learned over the years not to take her extracurriculars too seriously.

It started when they were kids. She roped him into learning how to play any and every card game she could get someone to teach her. Sometimes when he was doing homework and his mom wasn’t around, she’d play solitaire on the rug for hours on end. That transformed into magic tricks– she picked up some sleight of hand, which got her in trouble later when she started shoplifting. Bellamy caught on quickly and put a stop to it, making her return the eyeliner and lip gloss she’d taken and apologize to the store owner. For her integrity, the owner offered her a job, complete with an employee discount, and thus began the season of the makeup tutorials on YouTube and the eternal pursuit of the perfect eyebrow shape.

On and on it went, throughout the rest of her high school years, through undergrad, and into her graduate school program. She tried everything from bouldering to geocaching to becoming a coffee connoisseur and dragged Bellamy along every time. She and her friends Jasper and Monty tried brewing their own beer, making scented candles, and hiking.

Most recently, she’d started taking self-defense classes. Bellamy’s new real-adult job had provided him the perfect excuse not to join her.

“Besides,” he’d told her, “I’m not a big guy, but I’m in shape and I know how to handle myself in a fight.”

“Okay, but when I get attacked one day, you’ll be glad I’ve taken these classes.”

“I’m already glad you’re taking these classes,” he says absently, switching some slides around for his presentation the next day. “And I’m glad to know you’re not optimistic about your chances of not getting attacked. That’s really encouraging.”

She sticks with the classes for a while, even taking a job teaching there on weekends. None of her previous part-time jobs had stuck, but something about the way she returns from the gym practically glowing makes Bellamy think this might be a lasting interest. He’s mostly just glad she didn’t decide she wanted to make the composting phase permanent; it really made her place smell gross and he’d never wanted to spend time there.

After a few months it becomes clear to him that while she genuinely does love the physical challenge and mental stimulation of self defense, what sends her home beaming is definitely one of the other instructors, who has begun giving her private instruction. He’s huge and tattooed, and Bellamy would be worried about him except that he’s pretty sure by this point Octavia could kick his ass. And Lincoln’s, too, if need be.

So it’s all the more surprising when a new activity seems to catch Octavia’s fancy.

“Art?” He laughs when she brings him with her to pick out sketchbooks and pencils that should not reasonably be this expensive. “You can’t even draw a stick figure, O.”

“That’s why I’m going to these classes, dummy,” she says, weighing two nearly identical paintbrushes. “They’re for all skill levels. I don’t have to be good, I just have to learn.”

“Is this about Lincoln? Did you guys break up, and that’s why you’re switching from the gym to taking art classes?”

“You wish,” Octavia grins, and it’s a little bit shark-like. “I’m not cutting back on my time at the gym either. I’ve been looking for something to do on Saturday mornings, and Lincoln told me about this program at the museum. They walk you through different artistic styles in the exhibit pieces and then get you to create a piece with similar techniques.”

“That does sound cool,” he says, grudging.

“You should come. It’s on the weekends, so you don’t have work, and even if you don’t like to make stuff you can geek out and just learn about art history.”

Bellamy sighs, but he knows she’s already won her case. He’s seen less of her with all the time she spends at the gym– and with Lincoln– and he senses that unlike self defense, this won’t be something she stays with for long. At the most, he’ll probably only have to go three or four times before Octavia moves on to something else. Maybe he can even convince her to take up something he already likes to do, like fixing up cars or watching the history channel.

And that’s how he finds himself awake at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning, sitting in the back of a small classroom and waiting for his sister, who has either forgotten or is running late.

There are a handful of other people in the room, which is small and cold. Bellamy had planned just to hide behind an easel or in the back of the group all morning, but with so few people and no easels or sisters in sight, he’s growing increasingly uncomfortable.

Just before he decides to make a run for it, a woman with wavy blonde hair and a warm smile steps into the room. Her jeans and Chuck Taylors don’t scream professional art teacher to Bellamy, but she’s got a smudge of paint on the side of her left arm and her t-shirt has a print of Munch’s _The Scream_ with a stylized depiction of Homer Simpson in place of the screamer, which isn’t a joke he thinks just anyone would make. And he just has a good feeling about her.

She smiles brightly at the five or six people in the room and says, “Hey guys, for those of you who don’t know, I’m Clarke. Grab your supplies and follow me upstairs to the Egyptian wing.”

As they pass the stairwell that would lead him to the exit, Clarke appears at his elbow.

“You’re the only unfamiliar face,” she tells him, giving him no chance to escape. He resigns himself to faking a bathroom break later on and just never coming back. “But I really hate the thing where teachers make you go around and introduce yourself in front of everyone and tell what your favorite snack food is, or an animal that starts with the same letter as your name.”

“Thanks,” he says sincerely. He’s a salesman, so he’s used to talking to strangers, but then people might try to talk to him and he really doesn’t want that.

“This is the part where you introduce yourself to me,” she prompts, her lips curving into a smile that makes him wish he could draw just so he could study that expression forever. It’s not unkind, but it’s enigmatic and it’s _knowing_ and it has piqued his interest.

“Oh, I’m Bellamy. I like wasabi peanuts and my animal is a baboon.”

“Nice to meet you, Bellamy baboon.” The smile is even wider now, and he’s wondering if there’s a way he can both dip out of the class early and also get her number.

“Now you’re supposed to tell me meaningless things about yourself,” he says, smiling down at her. He knows he has a nice smile. He’s hoping it will work to his advantage.

“Actually, now I’m supposed to ask you how you found out about this program and what your self-assessed skill level is.” He’s a little disappointed that she seems to be sticking to business but he guesses she probably doesn’t want to get hit on at work anyway, so that’s kind of fair.

“Can my skill level be in the negatives? I have no skills.” He hesitates before answering her other question. She’s been friendly so far and he doesn’t want to offend her. “I came to spend time with my sister, who heard about it from her boyfriend, but they’re not here and I’m honestly contemplating going home and back to bed.”

“Who’s your sister’s boyfriend?”

“Lincoln Woods.”

“Oh, Lincoln!” She brightens at this information and he’s weirdly cheered by it. “He and I went to school together. He’s a phenomenal artist.” They’ve reached the room by now and the other students are standing around expectantly. “You’re free to leave whenever you feel like it, but if you stick around I’d love to get coffee and grill you about your sister.” Her eyebrows furrow as she thinks about the offer. “That doesn’t actually sound fun for you–”

“No, no,” he rushes in, though he’s not totally sure why he does it. “I love to smack talk my sister, especially when she makes me get up early and then leaves me hanging. And I can grill you about Lincoln.”

“Okay,” she says, and this smile is smaller, more pleased. She turns quickly to the rest of the class but her smile stays burned in his mind. “Then let’s get started.”

She’s a good teacher, a good speaker. She clearly loves the subject matter, and keeps her tidbits short but interesting. A couple of times she even throws in an anecdote that makes Bellamy remember why he loves history. He’s even interested in the facts she gives them and the way she connects the style of the artists to the context of the time.

When she releases the class to practice the style with the medium and subject of their choice, he just mills around aimlessly, studying the paintings in light of the new information he’s learned.

“What did you think?” She asks, showing up at his side once again. “Were you totally bored? Because if you were, I can write you a note or something that proves to your sister that you suffered through the whole class and then you can guilt her for probably a good week.”

“It was actually really fascinating,” he admits. “I’m more into the history part than the art stuff, especially when it comes to ancient cultures, but I’ve definitely had worse Saturday mornings.”

“It sounds like there are some stories there.”

“Most of them involve hangovers and shame,” he laughs. “All my embarrassing stories are from Friday nights.”

“I’d love to hear them either way,” she says, blushing when he grins at her. “You ready for that coffee?”

“Lead the way.”

He finds that the more he talks to her, the more he likes her. She tells him about her thesis topic (does art really imitate life, or does it influence the way we live?) and they argue good-naturedly about it for a while. The banter is easy and fun, and Octavia is going to be so smug.

“So on a scale from one to ten, how much of a nightmare is it for you that your sister is dating someone larger and scarier than you are?” She grins, leaning forward on her elbows.

“Like a seven,” he admits. “And that’s down from an eight when I first found out about him.”

“You really don’t have anything to worry about. Lincoln is one of the most respectful guys I know. He could hurt a fly, and he would for the right reasons, but he’s not careless with other people’s feelings.” She’s so earnest and it really is softening him toward his sister’s boyfriend but he’d rather be stubborn about her being in a serious relationship for just a little while longer.

“How do I know I can trust you?” He jokes. “Maybe this whole thing was a setup to get you to try to make me like Lincoln more. I wouldn’t put it past Octavia.”

“Does she play games like that?” Clarke asks, snapping from lighthearted to threatening faster than he would’ve thought possible. He sobers up instantly.

“No way. I was kidding. She really likes Lincoln.” He cocks his head, thinking it over. As changeable as Octavia is when it comes to her passions, she’s never been that way with her friendships. Once she’s on your side, she’s there for good. She’s had some flings in her past, but never with actual feelings involved, and never for this long. It hasn’t occurred to him that this would be anything less than serious for her. He explains as much to Clarke and she relaxes back into her chair.

“It sounds like you two are really close.” There’s a wistfulness in her voice that Bellamy wants to understand better, but they’re in the cafe at her place of work and they’ve barely known each other for two hours. He figures he has time to get to the bottom of it. He hopes he does, anyway.

“She’s the most important person in my life,” he says easily.

“Is that your way of telling me that you’re single?” Clarke asks, and that first smile, that cat-that-ate-the-canary smile, is back. He returns it with a smirk of his own.

“Are you asking?”

“Definitely.”

He leaves with both her number and a date.

He takes her to dinner the following night and tells her about all the times Octavia made him be the face she practiced countouring on, made him pretend to attack her to practice her defense moves, made him taste-test Jasper’s beer and too much coffee that tasted very much identical to Bellamy’s uninformed tastebuds. She tells him about how she and her best friend used to hang out at the museum growing up, and how that made her want to study art. She kisses him outside her apartment and he can still feel a tingle where her lips were when Octavia calls to ask him how his date went. She’s completely unrepentant about standing him up, but Bellamy lets it slide this once. He thinks it worked out pretty okay.


End file.
